


No one you can save that can't be saved

by kathierif_fic



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathierif_fic/pseuds/kathierif_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing was, Tom thought, he was – he <em>had been</em> a history professor. He had been married, and he had three children. He had loved his job, he had loved his wife, and he loved his kids. He wouldn't be, and had never been, willing to risk losing any of the three cherished things in his life for that.<br/>He was still in that mindset of a professor, which made him ignore any flirting directed at him. That was the only reason he could think of why he hadn't realized that someone was courting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one you can save that can't be saved

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 19 of rounds_of_kink on LJ, prompt: Tom couldn't ignore it any longer. And that was saying something, kink: seduction.
> 
> Spoilers for the entire first season of Falling Skies!

~*+*~

“Tom.”

Tom slowly turned in a small circle. He was standing in front of the school, but it had changed since the last time he'd been here and now was barely more than a ruin.

“We know where they hide.” There was no inflection in Karen's voice, no emotion as she said these words from her spot a few steps behind Tom. “We have always known, Tom Mason.”

Tom stared at her in disbelief. His heart started racing, sweat prickled on his skin.

“What...” he started, but before he could finish his question, a bright light behind Karen was switched on.

Tom stumbled back a step and lifted a hand protectively. Tears of pain sprang into his eyes, and through the blurry film he could see the silhouette of Karen moving backwards, toward the rows of waiting Skitters that had not been there just moments ago, Tom was sure.

One of the Skitters stepped forward and placed a long-fingered hand on Karen's head, petting her like a beloved animal or a small child. She looked in Tom's direction and then turned away without hesitation. Following her in a long line were children, led by Skitters, each and every one of them harnessed. A row of Mechs followed them, separating Tom from the kids until all he could see of them were small glimpses.

Glimpses of children he knew – he recognized Rick and Jimmy, their faces empty, and then, lined up behind each other Matt, Ben and Hal, all of them with a glowing harness on their backs.

They were too far away for him to do more than take a few stumbling steps toward them before they disappeared in the Skitters' ship, but before the ship's hatch closed, Hal turned around.

Despite the blinding lights, Tom knew that his son was looking at him, and he knew that Hal, like the other children, was right to blame him for their current state.

It was Tom's fault. He hadn't protected them, he had led the Skitters straight to the 2nd Mass., it was his fault all their kids were harnessed and were slowly turning into Skitters now, it was...

The ship's hatch opened again, and Skitters and Mechs poured out, more and more of them.

They were coming straight at him, not slowing down. Tom felt the familiar weight of his gun in his hands, but something in him was frozen in place. He was unable to move a single muscle as a small Skitter, barely reaching Tom's chest, stepped up to him.

It looked like all the other Skitters, nothing besides its size setting it apart from them, but Tom recognized it nonetheless.

Him.

This Skitter was – had once been – Matt.

His Matt.

The Skitter made a low sound as it reached for Tom, a sound Tom didn't understand, but he still knew what it wanted to tell him.

He knew what it wanted to do, and yet, he remained unable to move a single muscle as dark-green, claw-like fingers touched his chest for a split second while he could hear Mechs move in position around him.

He knew their sounds. He knew that they were only waiting for Matt's signal, and his order, before killing him.

The Skitter stepped away and joined the others.

Tom's heart stopped in his chest.

~*+*~

He jerked awake with a low groan of shock, pain and denial, his heart trying to beat right through his ribcage, as if it wanted to make up for something. He needed a long moment to realize that he wasn't dead, that he was in the uncomfortable chair he'd fallen asleep in. It was dark, the only light coming from a single lamp on the small desk at one side of the room.

He was drenched in cold sweat, his muscles stiff and aching from staying in the same position for too long, and he started to move his shoulders to loosen them again.

It wasn't the first time he'd had that particular dream since his return to the 2nd Mass., and he grimly thought that it probably wouldn't be the last time either that he was woken by a nightmare.

He quietly got to his feet and stepped up to the cots lined up along one wall. Ben had kicked off his blanket again and Tom carefully pulled it back up to Ben's shoulders.

Ben didn't stir. He was breathing deeply and calmly. Next to his hand, Tom recognized the rectangular shape of a book – Harry Potter.

He smiled weakly and moved to check up on his other sons. Matt was curled on his side, Hal was sprawled out on his stomach, but all three of them were safe and sound.

He should go and lie down himself, trying to get at least some amount of uninterrupted sleep, but he knew that he would just twist and turn and lie awake until it was time to get up again, so he didn't even bother.

It had been weeks since his return from the Skitters, weeks since they had managed to form a truce with the aliens. It was an uneasy peace and nobody expected or dared to hope that it was permanent, but it was more than what they had had before. It gave them some breathing room to start to prepare for the next wave, a wave they all dreaded to come.

Sighing softly, he shouldered his gun and left the room and his sleeping boys before his growing unease could wake them up. They all needed their rest.

He contemplated going to Anne and asking her for something to knock him out, but he quickly pushed that thought away. They needed their medication for emergencies, not for him being paranoid. Tom was sure that all parents had these kinds of nightmares, about their kids being harnessed, and that he was just one of many. Like them, he had to deal.

He bit back the impulse to turn around and check up on his kids again. He'd been gone from the room for less than ten minutes.

They were fine and safe.

Tom scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up wildly, and started to walk. His eyes felt gritty, but he wouldn't find any rest, he knew. Maybe the exercise would help tiring him out and letting him find at least a few hours of sleep.

The 2nd Mass. had found a hiding place at another school after evacuating from the previous one. It was the best way to keep everybody together and in a defensible position while offering at least a roof over their heads and warmth for the coming winter. Nobody dared to say it out loud, but they were all hoping that the truce with the Skitters would last at least for the cold months.

Tom shivered and pulled his jacket closer to himself. Spending the winter outside was not something he was looking forward to, and he was glad for their shelter.

It had been a coincidence that he had stumbled in on a patrol once the Skitters had returned him to the planet. Dai had looked at him in utter disbelief when he'd seen him, but he hadn't hesitated bringing Tom home, where he was welcomed back like a lost son.

The soles of his shoes made no sound on the floor as he rounded another corner. Ahead of him, he could see the board with the pictures of the missing children, a tradition they had kept. Candles were flickering gently on tables along the wall and Tom realized that someone was standing there and studying the pictures pinned up.

His first instinct was to turn around and leave without even making his presence known. The person standing there hadn't seen him yet, his attention focused on the pictures of happily smiling children that were now either missing, harnessed or dead.

Tom shrugged and stepped closer.

In the flickering candlelight, he could see short-cropped hair, a slightly bowed back and a flannel shirt. The person was male, and he had pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans while studying the pictures.

Tom was sure that he'd seen this man before. The 2nd Mass. wasn't that big, and even if there were more civilians than fighters, Tom knew most of them at least by sight.

He remembered this guy, but he couldn't remember his name or what he had been doing before the Skitters came. Maybe, he thought as he stepped up to him and glanced at the pictures, his exhaustion was finally catching up with him and he was starting to forget things.

Maybe it was Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, he thought, but he quickly shook that line of thinking off and scratched a hand through his hair.

The other guy acknowledged Tom with a small nod before returning his attention to the board.

Tom stared at the photos until they started to blur in front of his eyes, then he cleared his throat. “Are you looking for someone in particular?” he asked, his hand pressing subconsciously against his chest where, safely tucked inside the inner pocket of his jacket, he kept pictures of his family, his sons and his now dead wife.

The guy's lips twitched into a small smile. “Ah...no,” he admitted. His voice was quiet, a deep timbre that Tom didn't think he'd heard before.

He nodded and turned his attention back to the pictures. He had memorized all of them, had learned faces and names and hair colors, so that he could recognize them if he saw these kids among the groups of harnessed children.

“It's just,” the other guy said quietly, “I keep thinking how much easier this would be if we had a computer network. A database for all these kids. Maybe even a network with the other survivors, to share information.” He ducked his head sheepishly and shrugged one shoulder. “I'm sorry, I just miss it.”

Tom felt his own eyebrows climb in amusement.

“Let me guess,” he said lightly, “Dot com millionaire?”

“Oh, I wish,” the other man answered with a small chuckle. “Not that it would make a difference now. No, I'm just...I was a computer scientist. I developed new programs, databases and the like.” He shrugged again and ducked his head. “Old habit, trying to find a computer-based solution. One of the most useless habits around right now.”

Tom found himself grinning. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But then, there isn't much need for College Professors anymore either.”

“You never know – I hear your knowledge came in handy a few times already.”

Tom felt blood rush to his face, prickling his skin with embarrassment. He wasn't really comfortable with this kind of fame. He only did what needed to be done and liked to think that others would have done the same.

“You never know,” he managed to say, “what your kills can be useful for.”

The guy grinned and bumped his shoulder against Tom's gently. He was smaller than Tom, but not by much, his shoulders broad under his flannel shirt.

“Right now, it's good enough for all kinds of jobs,” he said. “Like kitchen duty with Pope.” He grimaced, and Tom chuckled softly.

“Yeah, Pope...” he started, but then he stopped again. He just didn't know how to finish that sentence. HE still had his reservations about Pope, thought he was little more than a criminal, and he had had several arguments and attempted talks with Matt about why he didn't want his son to hang around Pope, most of which ended with Matt storming off in a huff, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Pope had helped them a lot.

Without Pope, they wouldn't know half of what they knew about Skitters, and Tom was all too aware of that fact.

“Pope is Pope,” he simply said and bumped his shoulder against the other man's.

“He's certainly unique, but he knows what he's doing in the kitchen and how to bake bread,” the other man agreed. Tom still couldn't remember his name, and he was almost ready to give in and ask for it when the other guy sighed softly.

“Speaking of bread, I should get back to the kitchen and get started, “ he said softly. “Will you be okay?”

Tom startled at the question. It wasn't often that anyone bothered to ask him that. As long as he was standing on his own two feet and able to fire his gun, as long as his boys were safe and not harnessed, he was okay and had no reason not to be. It was a luxury he couldn't afford, not being okay. Too many people depended on him to make a right decision, to keep them alive and to guide them.

There was no time not to be okay.

“Sure,” he muttered belatedly, too perplexed to say anything else.

His boys were safe. Of course he was okay, as long as they were.

“Good,” the other man simply said and gave him a smile before turning around and leaving Tom standing there.

Tom sighed and went back to his family, to check up on them one more time before he tried to get a few more hours of sleep himself.

~*+*~

Matt, Tom thought fondly as he herded his sons to breakfast a few days after his late-night conversation, really was everything but a morning person. He was grumbling and complaining quietly every step of the way to the cafeteria, dragging his feet and almost driving Tom to comment on his childish behavior, but he managed to hold his tongue.

Ben gave him an amused glance and nudged Matt as they stood in line waiting for breakfast. It resulted in Matt quieting down, and by the time he was handed a plate, he was able to mutter a “Thank you” without shooting daggers out of his eyes.

Tom rolled his eyes and accepted his own plate. He looked up just in time to see short, reddish-blond hair that was already starting to recede slightly, dark brown eyes and a soft smile.

Reflexively, he smiled back. “Thanks,” he murmured and turned to follow Matt and Ben, to settle down at a table with them.

The only free chair was the one that allowed him to watch this guy, whose name he still didn't know, and he only looked up from his food every now and then to glance in that direction.

“Dad?” Matt stopped eating and looked at Tom expectantly. “Dad, are you listening?”

“I am.” Matt frowned in disbelief, and Tom quickly brought his gaze back to his son. “You were telling me about your math teacher.”

Both Matt and Ben were looking at him now, but when Tom started to frown, Matt shrugged and continued to eat. “He's pretty cool, I guess. He says he's not really a teacher, though.”

“Yeah?” That made sense, Tom guessed. The kids were taught by a handful of volunteers who were more or less versed in various subjects. There were no grades, no tests, and if he was honest, Tom was just waiting for someone to approach him about history lessons, now that there was ample proof that history wasn't just boring and useless, but that it could help them fight for their survival.

Ben was still watching him, a thoughtful expression on his face while Matt kept chatting, but even a raised eyebrow from Tom couldn't make him talk. Tom decided to take him aside later and find out what was bothering him, but he would give him the time to allow him to try and work through the issue, if it was one, himself.

He finished breakfast and rose. As if on commando, Matt and Ben finished off their food and scrambled to follow him. Tom didn't know if he wanted to be amused by that or vaguely terrified, but like so many things, he pushed it to the back of his mind and refused to think about it right now.

They walked with him until they reached the board with the photos. Hal was waiting there, ready for patrol, and Tom stopped to hug his two youngest, waited while Matt clung to Hal and Ben bumped his big brother's shoulder awkwardly, and then he and Hal turned to leave.

~*+*~

The next morning, at breakfast, there was an additional piece of freshly baked bread on Tom's plate. It was still warm and Tom breathed in deeply before he gave it to Ben.

Ben was grinning at him, and Anne and Hal, who had sat down with them, gave him confused looks. Anne, Tom noticed, was distracted, only paying half attention to what they were talking about, and when Tom nudged her gently, to get her attention, she blushed a fierce shade of red and mumbled an excuse.

Hal was starting to grin, too, but Tom didn't know if it was just his son being in a good mood or something different.

If he was honest, he was just glad that the fighting between Hal and Ben had stopped. He still remembered them from before, when their fights had easily grown out of control and proportion unless they were stopped by their mother.

There still was no known cure to reverse the process that was turning Ben and Rick into Skitters. Tom hadn't told anyone about the discovery about the Skitters, but Ben knew what was happening to him and Tom suspected that Rick knew too.

As if she could sense Tom's thoughts, Anne muttered an apology and hastily stood. She left the table and didn't look up, not even to apologize to Captain Weaver when she almost ran into him in her hurry to get away.

Weaver raised his eyebrows at her unusual behavior, but then he just shrugged and moved to get his own food. Following him like a shadow were Jimmy and his dog, Nemo.

Tom smiled when he saw them. Jimmy had picked the Captain as his role model and was following his every step and order. Weaver had tried to get him to leave, but some time after Tom had left with the Skitters, he had started to accept Jimmy around. He was mostly using him as messenger, but he wasn't averse to teaching him a few things.

It was, Tom suspected, an arrangement that suited both of them; something that filled a void in both of them and gave them some sort of stability for now.

He focused back on his kids. Ben was watching him again, and when he realized that Tom had caught him, he grinned.

“Someone has a crush,” he teased.

Confusion filled Tom. “A crush?” he repeated. “Who, Jimmy?”

Hal laughed. “Not him,” he said and sprawled lazily in his chair.

“Who, then?” Tom mentally went through a list of people before frowning again. “Me?”

This time, Ben rolled his eyes. “On you, Dad,” he said with a hint of impatience and pushed his empty plate away.

“On me?” Tom repeated incredulously. “What?”

“Really, Dad,” Ben said and stood. He collected their empty plates and stacked them. “Sometimes, you're really obtuse for a smart guy.” He grabbed the plates and left.

Matt looked after him and then at Hal. “Obtuse?” he repeated questioningly.

Hal reached over and ruffled his hair, despite Matt's protests. “It means Dad is being dumb,” he explained. “Come on, now, don't you have work to do, helping Uncle Scott?”

Matt nodded and slid off his chair. Hal squeezed Tom's shoulder and followed him – hopefully, Tom thought numbly, to make sure Matt really ended up with Scott and not with Pope.

Someone had a crush on him.

His first instinct was to laugh it off. Why would anyone here have a crush on him, he reasoned. He had baggage, he came with three kids; kids that would always remind him of the woman he had loved so much and that he had lost.

He glanced down at his fingers. He was still wearing his wedding band, the golden ring slightly dulled by dirt and age.

Who would willingly want him, knowing that he was still wearing this? That he was still grieving, in an abstract way that allowed him to function and not get killed by Skitters?

His thoughts started to move again, testing out theories and theses, trying to find an answer to this question the way he would approach a historical problem. He knew that it wasn't the same, and it had been a while since he had to use his analytical skills to approach a hypothetical problem. He felt a little bit rusty – it was amazing how quickly he had adapted to this new life, how he had learned new skills and honed skills he already had, skills that he had never needed as a Professor.

Approaching the problem logically helped him to exclude most people from the equation. Lourdes had a crush, but it was on Hal, Margaret didn't seem to care too much about men on general since her time with Pope's men, not that Tom could blame her, which left only one person.

He felt hot and cold at the same time as numbness filled him and kept him frozen in his place.

No, he kept telling himself. It couldn't be.

It couldn't be Anne.

It simply wasn't possible.

Anne was still grieving herself, missing her family like a limb that had been cut off unexpectedly, Tom knew. She got lonely sometimes, which was when she threw herself into her work or came to join him.

And yes, he had kissed her, when he had asked her to keep an eye on Matt and Ben, but that, he now knew, had been desperation and little more.

He had really thought he would die that day.

Tom swallowed thickly, to get rid of the sudden tightness in his throat, but it didn't help. Suddenly, he became aware of the racing of his heart and the sweat prickling against his palms and temples.

He liked Anne.

He even loved her, in a platonic way – he loved her like a sister and he had assumed that she felt the same about him. She had been overwhelmed by the kiss at first, had answered it out of surprise and the fear of losing a friend more than passion.

At least, he admitted to himself, that was what he'd always thought.

But what if that wasn't the whole truth? What if she had developed a crush on him, transferring her yearning for a family onto him and his boys? It would explain her unusual behavior around him – unusual behavior that, he now realized, hadn't been limited to the meal they'd just shared. She'd been acting skittish around him since his return.

He felt uncomfortable about that, and he knew he had to go and talk to her about it, making sure they were on the same page and letting her down gently.

“Hey, Professor.”

Tom almost jumped when Pope suddenly fell into the chair next to him.

“Pope,” he greeted cautiously and ran his shaky hand over his face. “What do you want?”

Their relationship hadn't grown beyond the barely civil tone they had maintained to combine their skills to beat a common enemy. Pope still loved tossing barbed remarks in Tom's direction, to see him react just to find out how far he could push him.

“Just wanted to see if you'd fallen asleep,” Pope drawled amusedly. “Bad enough I have one of these insomniac daydreamers in my kitchen.” He shook his head slightly. “Also, your little princeling asked me about chem lessons.”

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. He knew that Pope just wanted to get a raise out of him, but Tom was too distracted by the day's revelations to take the bait.

“Stay away from my kids,” he said, but his words lacked their usual heat.

He rose abruptly and left the table. On his way out of the Cafeteria, he absent-mindedly realized that the guy with the smile wasn't on duty, although Tom could have sworn that it had been him who'd given Tom his plate earlier.

Pope could probably tell him the guy's name. He'd talked about an insomniac daydreamer, and there was little doubt in Tom's mind about who he had meant.

As soon as the thought came, Tom pushed it away again. He didn't feel like giving Pope new ammunition, and Tom knew the other man would taunt him about his curiosity and apparent forgetfulness.

He could curb his curiosity, he decided. He had more pressing matters to worry about.

First, he needed to find Anne, to clear the air between them. As long as he was preoccupied with worrying about her crush – and her actions indicated that she was distracted, as well – he couldn't talk to Matt without snapping at his son, and he was pretty sure that Matt would react to him losing his temper by doing the exact opposite of what Tom wanted.

And Tom hadn't fought Skitters and Mechs to lose his son to someone like Pope.

He slowly started toward the biology classrooms that had been converted into their infirmary.

If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that this was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to. He dreaded Anne's response and the awkwardness that would probably grow between them, but he knew that this was something he needed to do sooner rather than later.

Hal was waiting for him outside the infirmary. He was lounging against the wall, as if he belonged there, and Tom was stuck with the sudden thought of how much his son looked at home like this, armed to his teeth instead of carrying around a stack of school books and fighting for his survival instead of worrying about girls, sports and homework.

There was so much that had been ripped away from all of them. Ben and Matt weren't the only ones who had lost part of their childhood. Hal, as much as he was treated like an adult now, was still a kid himself, too young to know about fighting and guns.

Hal grinned at him, unaware of his thoughts, and pushed himself off the wall.

“You really thought it was Anne,” he said around a broad smile. “I can't believe Ben was right about you really thinking it was her. Damn that brat for winning again!”

Hal sounded affectionate as he shook his head, but Tom couldn't do much more than stare at him in disbelief.

“You two...you bet on this?”

Hal laughed and reached out to tug at Tom's arm. “We did,” he admitted freely. “I promised to teach him how to shoot a gun if he's right about this.”

“What?” Tom asked sharply, but Hal just shrugged.

“We ran out of chocolate to bet for,” he admitted. “And he needs to learn sooner or later, you know that, Dad. Don't pretend you don't.”

Hal was, Tom admitted grudgingly, right about that, as little as he liked the idea. It was bad enough that Hal was part of the fighters. Matt and Ben were definitely too young for that.

“I'd prefer if it's much, much later,” he grumbled, but he allowed Hal to pull him away.

“Yeah, whatever, Dad.” Hal shrugged. “They need to know how to defend themselves. Remember that Skitter that got into the school and almost killed Jimmy? You want that to happen to Ben?”

“I know what you're doing,” Tom replied. “And it's not working.”

“Anyway, it's not Anne. If anything, she's trying to figure out a way to let you down gently.”

“What?” Tom felt a little bit stupid, being reduced to simple questions like that, but Hal was throwing him one curveball after the other.

“That's why she's so weird,” Hal said with a shrug. “Because she thinks you want something. With her. From her.”

Tom stopped. Hal, who hadn't expected it, walked two more steps before realizing his father wasn't next to him anymore and turning around.

“If it's not Anne, then who?” Tom asked, not caring that they were standing in the middle of an open hallway and having a private conversation in public.

Hal grinned. “Up to you to figure it out,” he said. “If you excuse me now, I have to teach a nerd about gun safety now.”

~*+*~

It was the small things, Tom realized after a few weeks, that had changed. It didn't matter what time he arrived at the Cafeteria, there sometimes was an extra slice of bread or something similar saved just for him. The only exception to that was when Matt or Ben were really hungry, but it was only a coincidence Tom found out about that.

He, Hal, Maggie and Jimmy had returned late from patrol and were sharing a late-night meal when Matt stumbled into the otherwise empty Cafeteria.

“Hey,” Tom greeted softly around a mouthful of bread. “What are you ding here, you should be in bed.”

Matt slowly came closer, his eyes glued to the half slice of bread on Tom's plate. It had been one of these days when there had been no extra.

“Hungry?” Tom asked and pulled Matt into his lap while pressing a kiss into his shaggy hair. Matt needed a haircut, he thought, but he didn't know if he needed to do it himself or if any of the civilians had experience with that kind of thing.

Matt nodded quietly, but when Tom offered him the rest of his own meal, he shook his head quickly. “I already got your second one,” he mumbled. “Because I was so hungry.”

Tom didn't know what to say, but Hal leaned over and bumped Matt's shoulder gently.

“Hey man, you want mine? I'm full anyway,” he said. Tom looked up sharply. Hal had barely eaten anything yet, but he was just shrugging Tom's concern off with a twitch of his bottom lip.

Matt nodded, and Hal handed over his bread. “And now, back to bed with you,” he ordered. Matt nodded and left hastily, as if he was eager to do what his big brother had told him to do, or scared someone would take the food away from him.

Tom hoped it was the first.

He hadn't been gone that long, he knew, but his kids had to find a way to go on without him during that time, and apparently, Hal had felt responsible enough to shoulder some of the burden Tom usually carried. It gave Tom a warm feeling in his chest.

Hal shook his head. “And here I was wondering what had happened to your special,” he teased. “Hey, are you still eating that?”

Tom shook his head silently and pushed his plate toward him. He hadn't been that hungry to begin with, and if his boys needed it more than him, he was more than willing to go without.

“Crush, huh?” Maggie commented.

Hal nodded.

“Looks like a pretty serious crush to me,” Maggie added, and Jimmy started grinning.

Apparently, everyone knew about this – everyone but Tom.

~*+*~

“The next morning, Tom found a candy bar with his washed and mended shirt.”

He gave it to Ben, who shared it with Ricky.

~*+*~

“Your kid is probably going to hit a growth spurt or something, if the women in the kitchen are to be believed.”

Tom looked up from the pictures on the wall and smiled when he recognized the other man.

“Matt?” he asked.

“Yeah.” A grin came with the answer. “Either that, or tapeworms.”

Tom shuddered and glanced down. The other man's hands were again deep in his pockets.

“Let's hope it's the growth spurt,” Tom said dryly. The other man just nodded and gave him a quick side-way glance.

It was another night filled with bad dreams and insomnia, and Tom had wandered the halls for about an hour before he had found himself here.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but he's developing a keen interest in chemistry as well,” the other one told him quietly. “He's pretty good at it, too, from what I hear.”

Tom sighed and dropped his head against the board in front of him.

“He's hanging around Pope again.” It wasn't a question, but the other man gave a low hum as reply nonetheless.

“I told him to stay away.”

His frustration was met with a soft laugh. “He is. He's usually half way across the room, shouting questions and insults at Pope. There's tons of people around just to watch Pope get schooled by an eight-year old.”

Tom just shook his head in disbelief.

~*+*~

He found himself looking forward to the conversations with the other man. They didn't talk daily, but at least once or twice a week, when Tom couldn't sleep because of the nightmares and started to walk around the school, desperate to make sure they were safe while attempting to tire himself out so he could get at least a few hours of sleep.

“I'm a nightowl,” the other man said one night. They were sitting side by side in an old classroom, and he had a needle and thread out and was fixing a long tear in the sleeve of Tom's jacket. “Always was. My sister's different. Was different.”

“She still around?” Tom asked. He felt drowsy, his head leaned against a cabinet. “What about the rest of your family?”

“No, not really. I don't think my old man made it out of downtown LA.”

“I'm sorry,” Tom said. The words were hollow and sluggish, almost meaningless when faced with all the loss, death and destruction, but it was all he had to offer.

They sat in silence for a moment, and slowly, haltingly, Tom started to talk, about his family and about the time when his kids had been younger. By the time his sleeve was fixed, he was describing the feeling of holding an infant Hal in his arms for the first time.

“You ever think about children?” Tom asked as he shrugged it back on.

He only received a small shake of a head. “I never thought about having any,” the other man admitted evenly. “It just...it was never a factor, you know? I knew that I probably wouldn't have any.”

Tom nodded. He hesitated for a split second, then he reached out. His wedding band glinted in the light of the lamp when he squeezed the guy's shoulder in a silent thanks and received a soft smile in return.

~*+*~

Matt barely looked up from the book in front of him when Tom sat down next to him on the cot. Tom glanced at the open pages. He had almost expected it to be a chem book, but to his great relief, he quickly realized that it was a tale about knights.

“He told you, right?” Matt asked resignedly.

Tom frowned. “Who?”

“Shawn.” At Tom's confused expression, he elaborated. “Mr. Patrick.”

Matt finally looked up at him. “My math teacher.”

“Oh.” Tom smiled. He finally had a name to go with the reddish-blond hair, the brown eyes and the easy smile. “What did he tell me, Matt?”

Matt gave a frustrated sigh. “I want to help,” he muttered. “I want to do something, Dad.”

Tom wrapped his arm around his thin shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed hug. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

“I promise I'm careful,” Matt said, his voice muffled by Tom's shirt. “I'm staying away from him.”

This time, there was no doubt who Matt was referring to, and Tom didn't pretend not to know.

“You keep staying away from him,” he ordered, “and you pay attention in all your other classes. And no explosives, you hear me? At least not until you're sixteen.”

Matt nodded. He needed a moment to realize that Tom wasn't there to forbid him trying to find out as much about chemistry as he wanted to, but to make sure he was safe, but when he did, he wrapped his arms in a tight hug around Tom's middle.

“It doesn't mean I like it,” Tom added after a moment, but Matt didn't let go of him to start another argument.

~*+*~

Tom found himself looking around as soon as he and Anne entered the Cafeteria. He easily spotted Hal, Ben and Matt around one of the tables. Rick and Lourdes were sitting with them and talking quietly. There even was the occasional smile.

Despite knowing where his family was, he kept turning his head and trying not to draw any attention to it while they were standing in line and waiting for their food.

“Here you go.” He turned around to look at the now familiar reddish-blond hair. A smile spread over his face.

“Thank you. Shawn.” Shawn smiled back at him and sneaked him a second slice of bread with his bowl of soup.

“For Matt,” he explained to Anne while blushing slightly.

“Thank you,” Tom said again, but before he could add anything, Anne nudged him on with an elbow between his ribs, and he went to sit down with his family. Anne joined them a moment later and they ate in companionable silence until Ben leaned his elbows on the table and asked, “Did you figure it out yet?”

“Figure out what?” Tom asked around a mouthful of soup and handed Matt his bread.

Ben rolled his eyes. “You've been ignoring it for a while now,” he said.

Tom put down his spoon. “Ignoring what?” he asked. He glanced at Anne, silently asking her for help, because the only thing he figured Ben would be talking about was his still unstopped transformation into a Skitter. He just didn't know why Ben felt the need to address this at the table, where everyone could listen in.

Ben shook his head. “You being seduced. Courted,” he explained impatiently.

~*+*~

The thing was, Tom thought, he was – he _had been_ a history professor. He had been married, and he had three children. He was sure that he was resistant to other people's advances due to these three things. He had loved his job, he had loved his wife, and he loved his kids. He wasn't, and had never been, willing to risk any of these three things for a meaningless little fling that wouldn't be able to give him more than a brief moment of satisfaction followed by remorse and guilt.

He wouldn't risk losing any of the three cherished things in his life for that.

He was still in the mindset of a professor, which made him ignore any flirting directed at him. That was the only reason he could think of why he hadn't realized that someone was courting him.

Seducing him.

This was more than just a crush.

“Who?” he asked, but that was the moment where all three of his kids started laughing at his helpless questions.

“You know,” Anne stated thoughtfully, “a lot of social conventions have been overturned since the arrival of the Skitters. Granted, most of them turned to the worse, but not all of them.” She shot him a look that was filled with amusement. “Why not this one, too? Why shouldn't we learn more tolerance out of this whole mess?”

Ben nodded, but her words only made Tom's confusion grow.

~*+*~

It was early, too early to be awake, but nightmares about his kids being harnessed were still haunting him even now, while he was awake. The first rays of sunlight were just starting to peek over the horizon and into the tall windows, painting bright stripes onto the ground.

Tom was sitting in a corner of the Cafeteria and was watching Shawn. The other man had taken one glance at him when he'd wandered in and had brought him a cup of tepid water while asking him if he was all right, but Tom had waved him off and had told him to go back to work.

He didn't want to be responsible for Shawn getting in trouble, even if it was just trouble with Pope.

Shawn had hesitated at first, but then he had gone, not without returning every now and then to subtly check up on him.

It gave Tom a weird, warm feeling somewhere in his chest and helped him chase the nightmares away.

Shawn's face was covered with short stubble. Tom knew it would catch the sunlight, once the sun was really up, in glittering facets of gold and red, the same way his hair did.

He sighed and scratched at his own beard. His shoulders were still tense and hunched from his nightmare, and he knew that he wouldn't find any more sleep, no matter how hard he would try.

He was just starting to wonder if he would ever manage to sleep without nightmares again when the chair next to him was scraped over the floor and Hal plopped down on it.

Hal had just come back from sentry duty, that much was obvious. Tom had known about it, but when he had jerked awake and had found only two of his sons, his worry and turmoil had only ratcheted up another level. Hal had dark smudges under his eyes from the night on duty and he was fully dressed and armed.

“You should get a room,” he said by way of greeting. “You're staring at him again.”

Tom frowned. “I'm doing what?” he asked, his voice barely more than a croak, and reached for his cup again.

Hal nodded in the direction of where Shawn was setting up supplies for breakfast. “You keep staring at him,” he said. “It's almost creepy, Dad. Or pathetic.”

Tom raised both eyebrows. It was a facial expression he usually reserved for the most shameless attempts of plagiarism, but he felt like he needed it right now, for this situation.

“Seriously,” Hal added, unfazed by Tom's expression. “It's okay if you want to go for it. I guess nobody realize you swing this way, except maybe Ben, but it really looks right now like he was right about this. Again.”

The whole situation was surreal, Tom thought almost hysterically. Here he was sitting with his Hal, and they were talking about...

Hal clapped him on the shoulder and grinned when Tom was struggling for words and failed to form them.

“You need me to give you the safe sex speech, Dad?”

~*+*~

Tom couldn't sleep. Weaver had taken one long look at him and had ordered him to rest up before he would fall flat on his face or scare the civilians, and Tom hadn't argued. He'd returned to their room, had taken off his boots and had stretched out on his cot with the plan to catch some sleep.

Next to him, Hal was breathing deeply and regularly, asleep since the moment his head had touched the pillow.

Tom couldn't sleep.

His thoughts were circling endlessly, around his memories of his wife, and the time they had spent together – all these years, the good and the bad times, all these things they had experienced together.

He still missed her so much.

He also thought about Hal, about Ben, about Matt.

His mind flashed back to his own College days, the experiences he'd made there – suddenly, he flashed back to Alex, his roommate then.

He hadn't thought about Alex in years.

He hadn't thought about fumbling, drunk touches late at night since he had been married, since the second there had been only one for him. He had successfully managed to suppress the memory of drunken giggling, of kisses tasting like beer and cigarettes and weed, the strong hand curling around his flesh.

And, in between these returning memories and thoughts, there was always that glimpse of reddish-blond, short-cropped hair, the sight of sunlight glinting off stubble, skin around brown eyes crinkling with a smile.

That smile.

His mind returned to that smile, his thoughts going in a tighter and tighter spiral until he really couldn't ignore it any longer, despite his resistance and the ingrained ignorance toward other people's advances toward him.

He couldn't ignore it any longer, and that was saying something.

~*+*~

He must have fallen asleep, his brain somehow finding reprise from the endless circling or just shutting down, but when he jerked awake, his t-shirt was drenched in sweat, his heart was racing wildly and his breath was coming in short, sobbing gasps.

It was dark. In the light of the single lamp, he could make out three lumps under blankets, all of them breathing calmly and regularly. All of them safe and sound.

Someone had thrown a blanket over him as well, he realized when he sat up and it fell into his lap.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and into his hair, but every time he closed his eyes, the images of his dreams came back.

His boys harnessed.

Skitter-Matt's long, green fingers petting Tom's hair while Mechs were lining up behind them.

Shawn dying after Skitter-Ben gave the order and the Mechs opened fire.

Anne dying.

Weaver dying.

Everyone dying while Tom was helplessly watching, surrounded by Skitters petting him like a dog who had brought his masters something they had been looking for.

He couldn't stay still anymore.

He pushed the blanket off and swung his legs over the edge of his cot. The floor was freezing under his socks, and he put his boots on as quickly as he could without making any unnecessary noises. He slipped into his shirt and jacket and grabbed his gun. Before he left the room, he tucked the blanket around Ben's shoulders.

The air around him was suddenly stifling him.

He needed to move, needed to make sure the school was secure, that they were safe. He was feeling almost frantic, the fear and almost-panic choking him and making him gasp for air.

~*+*~

Shawn found him with his knees pulled up, sitting with his back against a row of lockers.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly and slid down to sit next to Tom. He carefully left some space between their bodies, as if he was scared by the expression on Tom's face. “You couldn't sleep again, huh?”

Tom shook his head. “No,” he admitted. His voice came in a rough whisper. “Nightmares.”

Shawn nodded. He didn't ask about Tom's dreams, but after a while, he started to talk quietly about computer databases and how they were used. The candlelight flickered gently around them, bathing them in dim light, and slowly, Tom managed to fight the panic back and calm down again. Shawn's voice helped soothing him and made him forget about the images in his dreams, at least for a while. It wrapped around Tom like a warm blanket, and he was thankful for it.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he managed a weak smile. Shawn stopped his speech about why uploading a virus to the Skitters' ships wouldn't work and frowned slightly at him.

“What's funny?” he asked curiously.

Tom looked at him. This, he decided, was it.

The moment of truth.

“Are you flirting with me?” he asked bluntly.

Shawn swallowed reflexively and ducked his head. His throat worked, and Tom was almost certain that he was blushing furiously.

“Okay, yes, maybe, a little,” Shawn finally admitted.

“The extra food, the mended clothes. The candy.” Tom shook his head as the puzzle pieces in his mind slotted together. “Keeping an eye on Matt.”

Shawn seemed to shrink into himself. “Do you...do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Tom took a deep breath and held it for a long moment.

The moment of truth.

“No, don't stop,” he said softly and bit his lip. This, he thought, felt awkward – the last time he'd been actively flirting with someone had been about eighteen years ago. “I like you.”

It was as awkward as he'd feared it to be, but he refused to back down now. “Even if this is weird,” he admitted and looked away.

“Weird how? Because I'm a guy?” Shawn wanted to know. He chuckled and stretched his legs out in front of him. The cuff of his jeans was frayed, Tom noticed absent-mindedly as he watched Shawn's every move. “Tell me, Professor Mason, sir, have you heard about the Theban band?”

Tom frowned. “Yes,” he said slowly. “The sacred band of Thebes. A troup of elite force of the Theban army in the fourth century BC, made up of male couples.” His lips twitched. “The reasoning was that lovers could fight more fiercely and cohesively than strangers. I didn't know you're a historian.”

“I'm not,” Shawn admitted. “But I've got a feeling I'm going to learn to appreciate the finer points of history.” He grinned and reached out to entwine his fingers with Tom's. “No, I've got all of my information about them from internet porn.”

Tom exhaled with a huff of air. His lips twitched upward, into a small but honest smile, and he squeezed Shawn's hand affectionately.

“All I know is how to google papers, to find plagiarism,” he replied dryly.

Shawn grinned. “If we still had computers, I could write you a program to make that easier,” he offered, and then, he twisted his body around, to kneel facing Tom, and placed his free hand on Tom's cheek.

Their lips met slowly, carefully. Shawn's stubble rasped against Tom's beard. His fingers were warm and strong against Tom's face, and Tom reached up blindly and grabbed his sweater while his tongue gently brushed against Shawn's lips and into his mouth, tasting him for the first time.

This kiss was completely different from the one he'd shared with Anne, he thought, almost dizzy with emotion, and it meant something completely different, as well.

This wasn't desperation and goodbye.

This was wonder and a promise of something new.

The metal of Tom's gun was pressed between their bodies, keeping them apart with its unyielding strength, and Shawn pulled back with a small smile and a lick of his lips. Tom's mouth tingled and he could feel the first stirrings of something else as well.

Shawn smiled at him again, that smile that Tom hadn't been able to get out of his head, and settled with his back against the row of lockers. He wrapped his arm around Tom's shoulders and tucked him firmly against his side.

“I've got you,” he promised and pressed a kiss into Tom's hair. “You're safe. I promise to wake you up if Skitters even think about coming here.”

Tom chuckled.

“Well, I would offer to protect you, but for one you're the one with the gun and for two, I don't think my experience with World of Warcraft would be of any help here,” Shawn continued in a soft murmur. “But...I've got you, Tom.”

 

And Tom dozed off.

~**~  
end.


End file.
